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It is dark. Too dark. Has been dark for days.
He knows that the curtains in the room are drawn, and that it’s some time well into the afternoon and nearly evening because the nurse already delivered him his lunch a long while. He doesn’t know what time exactly though. Hasn’t known for days. The tick-tock of the clock in the hospital room tells him nothing. It tells him nothing aside from the fact that with each movement of the hands, he is one step closer to the end.
He doesn’t know when that is either.
He doesn’t even know how it’ll all end. The doctors only had speculated that it’ll be painless more or less.
They were wrong because everything has been a pain. Not that it all matters anymore.
Dying by some incurable disease like the female protagonist of a dozen light novels, anime, and movies he read and watched has obviously never been on his list of how to die. But he supposes that there are worse ways of dying.
He closes his eyes and heaves a sigh, attempting to go back to sleep because it’s not like he can do anything else.
He is disrupted however, when the door to the room opens. He doesn’t need sight to identify who it is.
“Mayuzumi-san should really eat.”
“Not hungry.”
There’s no sound, but Chihiro can feel the presence drawing near, and then he feels soft fingers (soft, but with a thin layer of calloused spots lingering from years of basketball in the past) brushing his bangs away from his eyes. The touch is gentle and barely there, almost as if afraid that one wrong touch would break him. And he hates it because he’s not that vulnerable. Even now he still refuses to see himself as such.
“They’ll bring dinner in an hour. Please eat, even if just a little bit.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Mayuzumi-san. Please.”
Kuroko’s voice cracks and Chihiro grits his teeth.
“Why?” he asks, almost seethes as he glares. “Why are you trying so hard?”
“Because I don’t want you to give up!” How Kuroko’s voice rises with such fire makes Chihiro clench his fists. This guy…
“I’m being realistic,” he spats. “You know that I’m fighting a losing battle. The doctors even said—”
Warm lips pressed against his and the rest of his words die in his throat. It dies in the same way a candle does against someone’s breath.
Softly, as Kuroko pulls apart, “You never know as long as you don’t give up.”
That voice is firmed and determined—annoyingly so as it spews words of inspiration that only a child would believe in. Chihiro isn’t a child. He’s been tossed into the line of fire, endured the bullets of the enemy and has crawled back battered and tired, alive but wondering why.
“There are plenty of people who lived past their determined limit.”
He wants to scoff at that. Weigh both ends of that statement and let’s see which side is heavier—death or life?
“You know I don’t believe in miracles,” he says.
“I know you don’t. But please believe in yourself. Believe in me. Believe in us.”
He wants to laugh, but that too ends up dying in his throat before making it out, so he quirks a lopsided smile instead. “That sounds like a sappy line that the protagonist of some trashy romance novel would say.”
He can imagine a small smile on that face. “But they get their happy ending.”
“Not always.”
A pause. Then, “Yes, not always, but as long as there’s a chance…”
“This isn’t a basketball game,” he scoffs.
There isn’t missing a beat this time. “No, it isn’t, but I still want you to keep fighting.”
Chihiro closes his eyes, breathes and opens them again. For a moment he thinks that light blue enters his darken vision and he sees clear blue skies and feels the warmth of the summer sun, but it becomes dark again and he realizes that the room is too cold.
“You’re making a really selfish request, you know that?”
Kuroko’s hands find his and give his aching limb a squeeze.
Perhaps he was’t imagining that warmth after all.
“I never said I was selfless."
Even his blindness can't prevent him from seeing that gentle yet firm smile.
“Yeah… you’re right about that.”